


In Which Someone Makes A Huge Mistake

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Series: Various Prompts and Drabble Things [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Kinda, M/M, idek, in response to a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fucking Gallagher and his stupid fucking hero complex. Fucking Ian. Fucking stupid, stupid, fucking Ian.</p>
<p>...or in which someone makes a huge mistake.</p>
<p>In response to a prompt of Ian being falsely proclaimed K.I.A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Someone Makes A Huge Mistake

Mickey knew something was wrong when Fiona pulled him aside as soon as he arrived back from the store. He had been living with the Gallaghers since Ian had been deployed almost a year ago, and had taken some of the responsibility when it came to food and bills.

Fiona sat Mickey down at the table and cleared her throat. Her voice was raspy. Had she been crying? ‘They came by this morning and said he was killed in action.’ Fiona sobbed. Mickey stared blankly at her and watched tears wind slowly down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she kept saying. Over and over and over. Why? She wasn’t responsible. Fucking Gallagher and his stupid fucking hero complex.

Mickey nodded. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ He didn’t let his carefully constructed facade slip as he went up the stairs. 

Mickey shut the door, hung his jacket on the hook behind the door, and opened one of Ian’s drawers of clothes. He pulled out a t-shirt and brought it up to his face, inhaling the scent that lingered there. Mickey sighed and laid on the bed, kicking off his shoes as he did. He curled into a ball and held the shirt close, finally daring to let go of the tears that had been threatening to spill over. Sobs rocked silently through Mickey’s body, and he didn’t bother trying to stop them, even when the door opened and he heard Mandy’s voice say, ‘Oh, Mickey.’ as she crawled onto the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

 

* * *

 

Mickey left the next day.

He packed his things into a bag and a box, and moved back to his old room at the Milkovich house. 

He didn’t do much. Just laid in bed all day, only getting up to get another bottle of whatever he could find with an alcohol content.

It took him weeks to be able to get out of bed, a few months to be able to go about simple daily tasks, and a few more months to be able to go back to work.

He always held out a little bit of hope that maybe,  _somehow_ , they had got it wrong. Ian couldn’t have died. Ian had promised to come back to him, and fuck if Mickey wasn’t going to hold him to it.

 

* * *

 

It was a beautiful, Saturday morning. The sun was shining, Mickey had no plans for the day, and there were even birds chirping. Fucking birds and their optimistic fucking  _chirping_.

Mickey pulled himself out of bed and looked at the date, circled rather indignantly on his calendar. He sighed and flopped back into bed. Maybe today wasn’t going to be such a great day.

When Ian (Mickey could finally talk about him without wanting to crawl into a hole and never come out again) had been deployed, today was the day he was supposed to come home. But  _nooo,_ that wasn’t going to happen, because fucking stupid Ian had gone and gotten himself killed. Just like Mickey said he would. Fucking Ian. Fucking, stupid,  _stupid_ , fucking Ian.

Mickey would need alcohol to deal with this day. He got up (again) (for the last time) to pull on a pair of boxers and get himself a few bottles of something. On his way back from the kitchen, someone had the nerve to knock on the door. How fucking rude, interrupting Mickey’s wallowing in self pity.

'What the fuck do you -' he stopped, his grip on the bottles went slack, one bounced off the carpeted floor, and the other shattered, falling outside onto the concrete.

'Hey, Mick.'

Mickey didn’t respond. He shut the door, then reopened it a few seconds later. He was still there. ‘What the fuck?’

'What?'

'What the hell was I drinking last night.' Mickey left the door open, picked his unbroken bottle up off the floor and went towards his room.

'Mickey?' Footsteps followed Mickey to his bedroom and stopped outside the door.

'Ian?'

'Mickey?'

'Why are you here?' Mickey said, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.

'I just got back…' Ian said, sounded confused. 'Aren't you glad to see me?'

'You're dead, asshole. No, I am not glad to see you. It means I'm going insane.'

'Dead?'

'Yeah, dead.'

'Uh… Pretty sure I'm not dead.' Ian dropped his bag and entered the room. 'See?' he said, putting his hand on Mickey's calf. 'Real.'

Mickey sat up. ‘Real?’

'Yeah. Why did you think I was dead?'

'Some people came to your house a few months ago and told Fiona you were killed in action.'

'Oh… Yeah there was a bit of a mix up.'

'What, there another guy called Ian Gallagher?'

'There was, yeah.' Ian sat on the bed. 'Did they not come round and tell you it was the wrong person?'

'If they did, no one gave me the memo.'

Ian’s face broke into a grin. ‘So are you still not happy to see me?’

'Fuck you.' Mickey said, mirroring Ian's grin with his own. 'Fucking fuck you, Ian. Fuck.'

Ian laughed as Mickey, usually not the hugging sort, launched himself towards him. ‘I missed you.’ Ian said, burying his face in Mickey’s shoulder.

'Fuck you.' Mickey said again. 'Missed you too.' He ran his fingers through Ian's cropped hair and sighed, reveling in the feel of his - apparently very alive - boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

 

_Original post can be found in all its glory[here](http://im-not-his-keeper.tumblr.com/post/82974636717/ian-was-falsely-proclaimed-k-i-a-or-ian-is-honorably)._


End file.
